“It’s dinner,” I say. “They eat. They talk. They ask annoying questions. You’ll survive.”
Her mouth tightens like she wants to laugh and can’t quite get there.
“Dinner at your dad’s house,” she says. “With your entire, humongous family.”
“It’ll be all right,” I promise.
Erica shifts again.
“I don’t think I’ve even been in a room with that many people I know,” she says. “Ever.”
“I’ll be there,” I say.
She blinks at that.
“I met your dad,” I add, because she needs the logic, not the comfort. “It’s only fair.”
Her gaze flicks down to our hands.
“That’s different,” she mutters. “One person versus a million.”
“It isn’t different,” I say.
She makes a small noise in her throat, half skeptical, half resigned.
“And my family wants to meet you,” I continue. “They’ve wanted to since Vito said he met you.”
Erica’s face goes red immediately.
“Oh my God,” she says.
“Now they’re all on me about bringing you to meet the family because it’s not fair that only Vito’s met you.”
“What is it, a competition?”
“It is for them.”
She stares at me for a beat, then exhales.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay. I just… I don’t want to walk in and have everyone staring at me like—”
“Like what?” I ask.
She lifts her shoulder in a small shrug, but it’s not casual.
“Like I don’t belong there,” she says quietly.
The words soften me.
I keep my hand around hers.
“You do belong,” I tell her.
She looks out the windshield, then back at me.
“I don’t want to be too late getting back,” she says.
“We won’t be,” I say. “How’s your dad doing?”
